


Here We Go Again

by anothermistakemade



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Breakup, Cheating, F/M, Getting Back Together, Hurt/Comfort, Island - Freeform, M/M, Mamma Mia! - Freeform, domestic abuse, of sorts, simon trying to find his father, this is a mamma mia! au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-01
Updated: 2018-01-31
Packaged: 2019-03-12 03:03:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13538316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anothermistakemade/pseuds/anothermistakemade
Summary: “You are cordially invited to the wedding of...”Baz knew that when he left Watford Island, things certainly would change. He just didn’t expect them to change this much. Snow’s seemingly moved on, determined to find his father, and caught up in a rather toxic relationship with Mage.Maybe a part of him isn’t over Snow. Maybe a part of him is. Or maybe he just hopes Snow will come running back first.OR: a very loose mamma mia! au





	Here We Go Again

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: physical and emotional abuse is a large theme in this story. if it is triggering to you, please do not read this as it will be discussed in detail. thank you. 
> 
> the main idea of this coincides with mamma mia!, but there are several major points that aren’t the same. if you’re looking for an exact copy, this isn’t it. however, if you haven’t seen mamma mia!, this will still make sense. 
> 
> i will say that this first chapter is very cutesy (and short, i just want a feel of how people will respond to this idea), but shit gets real as the story continues.

The invitation slid soundlessly into the mail slot, landing softly on the piles of similar envelopes beneath it. However, this particular invitation was by far the most important, and dictated the future of perhaps everyone on the tiny Watford island. The letter’s sender exhaled deeply, a hand on their chest, hoping the nosy villagers had decided to keep to themselves for the night. This invitation would change everything, but should it fail, it was a death sentence for its maker. 

*

Baz hated public transportation. It was a part of the long list of reasons he despised Watford island-- everyone packed onto overcrowded trolleys or taxis or buses or sidewalks to get somewhere. Even getting to the island required a ride on a stinky ferry boat, and getting a seat meant squeezing between native fishermen with their raw catch. Baz had once loved the ferry, begging his mother to let him ride back and forth so he could watch the waves from the back of the boat, but now that the childish clouds that had once shaded his vision were dissipated, he was properly disgusted by the riders of the Watford ferry. 

Penelope Bunce was, of course, the exception. An expert on ferry transportation, she'd wisely brought a rolling trunk and used it as her seat. Baz began to smile, formulating a witty response, before recalling the last time he and Bunce had spoken. She'd called him a selfish monster and claimed he was responsible for all of Simon's hurt. Every tear he shed was for him, every moment of longing bore his name. Though Baz chalked it up to her being overdramatic, the words stuck for years.

She had certainly changed since their last meeting. For one, she was shockingly not attached to Snow at the hip. She'd dyed her hair a bright purple and learnt how to braid it so that the frizzy pieces wouldn't stick out. Her bulky, red-rimmed glasses had vanished off her face, and her skin was lacking its Watford tan. She was different. 

But then, Baz remembered, he was different, too. He'd tossed his hair straightener and let his hair curl up to his chin. He wore it in a bun sometimes. He washed it as often as his schedule would allow (which wasn't very often). Strangely enough, he'd gotten tanner since leaving, as a new and stimulating environment encouraged him to go actually outside. The years of traveling and carrying a suitcase had taught him that his overstuffed wardrobe, comprised of sweaters and ties dress pants and shoes, was superfluous, and most of it was thrown away. Instead, Baz typically wore the same ratty white t-shirt and jeans daily. 

So he and Bunce were both different people now. Maybe that meant it was safe to say hello. 

"Hey," Baz crept tentavitely along until he was within speaking distance of Bunce. 

"Baz? Jeez, is that you?" Bunce squinted her eyes, as if Baz were some sort of imposter with malicious intent.

"In the flesh," Baz responded, hoping Bunce's shocked expression would fade soon. "I assume you're here for the wedding?" He asked, seeking to end the silence. 

"What? Oh," Bunce snapped out of her bewildered haze, "yeah, I am. Are... are you?"

"Incredibly so," Baz pulled the invitation out of the backpack in his lap to prove it. Bunce snatched it from his hands to examine it closely, and Baz suddenly felt nervous that it wasn’t real, that someone had played a cruel joke by inviting him.

"Huh," She mumbled to herself, before returning the invitation. He exhaled softly and shoved it back into its safe place in his backpack.

They didn't speak again, just rode in silence until the ferry stopped at the tiny dock on Watford's coast. Snow was waiting there. Baz wasn't quite ready to see him yet, but he had to at least look at him and his sun-kissed skin and newfound muscles. He was twice the size he was when Baz had left him on that same dock four years ago. 

"Penny!" Snow squealed as he ran to his friend. The gold band on his left ring finger glinted in the light as he threw his arms around Bunce. 

Baz didn't stay for the tearful reunion. He'd rejected a room at Snow's hotel, Davy's Villa, in favor of his parents' estate on the north side of the island. It was nicer, but intentionally out of the way (which would prove to be either a good or bad thing). Baz dragged his suitcase along the bumpy dock and then through the hot sand, trudging towards the car Daphne had sent to get him. 

"Nice to see you again, sir," The chauffeur-- Baz had forgotten his name-- tipped his hat. 

"Not glad to be back," Baz replied, throwing his suitcase into the trunk of the Jeep. "Let's just get it over with."


End file.
